


A Christmas Truce

by WilmaKins



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Complicated Relationships, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hand Jobs, Hurt Steve Rogers, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, One Night Stands, POV Steve Rogers, Semi-established relationship, Steve Rogers Feels, Tony Feels, Tony Stark Feels, Tony Stark Has A Heart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-30
Updated: 2018-12-30
Packaged: 2019-09-30 14:34:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17225849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WilmaKins/pseuds/WilmaKins
Summary: Several months after what happened in Siberia, Tony rescues Steve's team from certain death in the winter wilderness. After which, yeah, they could sit and talk through everything, fight and shout and try to explain...But it's Christmas. So maybe this time they could just... not?Written for the ever wonderful Kierna Serea, in thanks for everything she is doing to help me with my writing.NOT exactly explicit, but the sexual content is at least very heavily referenced - if you aren't sure about it, please ask!





	A Christmas Truce

**Author's Note:**

  * For [KiernaSerea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KiernaSerea/gifts).



> So.... I am in the middle of two WIPs for my wonderful MTH winners, not to mention the extensive notes for the sequel to Whatever Makes You Happy - but all of those are quite involved projects, with a lot of indepth character analysis and angst. So, as I was staying with family over the holidays, and I could only work on fic for ten minutes at a time, I realised I probably couldn't get much meaningful work done on any of them just now (I did still work on them, for anyone who is waiting, but not in quite the same 'head down, lets get EMOTIONAL' way I'm used to...) ANYWAY, the point it, I thought to myself, hey, instead of getting out of the habit of writing, why not work on a happier, simpler, more festive fic? 
> 
> Essentially what I'm saying is, this is as happy and simple as I can do, and I therefore think I have issues...
> 
> Anyway, written as a gift for Kierna Serea, in thanks for everything she is doing to help me with my writing, and as something to tide you over while I drown you with notes for the other fic... :-)

_It’s all gone horribly wrong._

 

Steve and his team had been walking for over an hour. Every one of them was bodily exhausted, bloodied and painfully, dangerously cold. The only thing pushing them on was the simple fact that they couldn’t stop. They were hopelessly lost in the Canadian wilderness, in the dead of winter, in the middle of the night. That fact alone was reason enough to keep them moving – they all knew that if they didn’t find shelter soon, someone would freeze to death. Add to that the fact that there were sill terrorists scattered all over these hills. Steve would have to stop lamenting his failure to apprehend them; now, the main concern was not getting shot by one of them.

 

“Hang on. Cap. Just one… Just one sec.” Sam croaked, stumbling to a stop. Steve tried to keep his wild panic out of his eyes as he turned back. _Not now_. Steve knew if Sam stopped walking now, he wouldn’t be able to start again. And if Sam stopped walking, he’d fall asleep. Steve could see it. And if Sam fell asleep now, he wouldn’t wake up. Steve was basically carrying Natasha, he couldn’t carry Sam as well – he’d been shot in his other arm.

“We can’t stop yet, Sam” Steve answered softly, already knowing what the answer would be.

“I know Cap, I just… I can’t…” Sam panted, leaning forward to rest his weight on his legs, his breath fogging up like smoke around him. And what could Steve say to that? There was nothing. It had all gone wrong already.

 

Steve felt Natasha collapse into his side, and only just managed to stay upright. He scanned the landscape, less desperately now that he had lost all hope. He already knew there was nowhere to hide. To the left of them there was just the rock face, too tall for them to climb – and if they did, it would just be more forest, and more snow. No cover. Somewhere off to the right, through the trees, there was a road, and beyond that, the river. They were supposed to be avoiding the road, and they were definitely supposed to be avoiding the river…  He thought about the flip phone in his pocket, he pictured taking it out again, just to check. But he knew; he didn’t have signal five minutes ago, and they’d only gone deeper into the woods since then. So, what, did they just all lie down here and die? Just wait for however long it took for Natasha to bleed out, Sam to succumb to concussion… he knew Wanda would freeze to death long before he did. How long would he be left out here, alone? Would he fall asleep again, and wake up in another world entirely… again…. Or, maybe this time, he just died. Maybe this is what it was all leading to. All that hope, all those sacrifices, all that training and learning and taking experimental super-serums… to misjudge a mission and die on an isolated hillside. If he’d just had a better grasp of the technical details this time… If he’d hadn’t kept on trying to be an Avenger… If he hadn’t lied to Tony, and gotten everyone thrown out of the Avengers in the first place…

 

What did it matter now?

 

And for a few long, painful seconds, no one said anything. Steve knew they were all thinking the same way, now. They’d all given up on surviving this, they were all just trying to think about what you do when you aren’t going to. They’d all stared death in the face so many times, you’d think they’d be used to it. But still none of them knew what you did, what you said, when you were about to die.

 

And then, out of the corner of his eye, Steve caught a brief, bright flash.

 

His whole body seized again, refocussed by the prospect of attack. It was a different instinct, apparently. They might be forced to accept a slow death at the hands of nature, but none of them would sit here and let a disgruntled terrorist kill them. This time Steve scanned desperately, trying to work out what he’d seen, where it had been. None of them were up to fighting. They would have to run. Even if it was only so that they could die of exposure instead, they had to run. He looked at Sam.

“Okay, let’s go” Sam whispered, almost unintelligible through his shivering. Steve braced his back so that Nat could pull herself up on him, her breathing hard and ragged. He saw Wanda wince through an injury he didn’t even know she had… they wouldn’t make it far. They had to-

 

And then there was an immediate, blinding flash of light. A warm breeze that was actually nice. _A sound Steve knew he knew…_ He put himself in front of Nat automatically, but even as he did it he could hear himself thinking _no, it’s okay._

 

It’s Tony.

 

Well, the suit, technically – But Steve knew he was really in it. He could always tell. And he didn’t even ask himself how Tony was here, or why. He was just so very glad he was. He watched the light of the rockets die, the way the armoured panels moved to let Tony land…It was so familiar to him, Steve could have cried. He almost said, _help_. It almost just slipped out of his mouth, it was so obviously the only thing he had to say.

 

_Help me Tony._

But, of course, Tony didn’t make him say it. Tony simply lifted his visor to look at the group of them, mostly concern with an edge of shock. And then the concern hardened into that mock-irritated look Steve had seen so many times. That little act he went through before he did something nice.

“Stay here. I’ll be two minutes.” Was all he said, and then he flew away in another burst of light.

 

Everything seemed darker for a moment.

 

“Tony was just here, yeah?” Wanda clarified, frowning. Steve nearly laughed.

“Yeah, that did just happen.”

“Is he coming back?” Nat asked, in the same dazed voice.

“Of course.” Steve reassured immediately. Easily.

“Are we about to get arrested?” Sam asked, like he wasn’t particularly bothered one way or the other. And the answer seemed just as easy, came to him just as immediately – _no._ But he didn’t say that. He wasn’t sure why he didn’t… playing it safe, maybe. Trying not to over promise. He couldn’t help thinking he’d over promised everyone into this mess in the first place.

“Does it matter?” He said instead, and no one argued with him. They just stood, trembling and gripping whatever body parts hurt. Counting the seconds until Tony came back.

 

Of course, Tony came back.

 

“I’ll take her, you help Sam” He spoke directly to Steve, quick and to the point. _Their battle pattern_. The way they’d talked to each other, and only each other, when everything else fell to pieces. Steve fell into it just the same.

“She was thrown through a window, she’s losing blood on her left side.” He informed Tony efficiently, and if Nat was offended that they were talking about her rather than to her, she didn’t say. She just let Tony pick her up, bridal style, the suit taking her weight easily. Steve supported Sam under the elbow, walking with him as everyone followed Tony though the trees. It wasn’t nearly so difficult now that it wasn’t hopeless – now that they were walking _to_ somewhere.

 

Which, as it turned out, was a battered old Honda minivan, deposited in a clearing in the woods.

“Did you just drop that there?” Steve asked, almost smiling, as Tony’s suit unfolded itself from around him and disappeared.

“As close as I could get it.” Tony explained, simply. “I do have to be able to get the thing back to the road.”

“Where did you get it?”

“I owe a poor Canadian family a new minivan” Tony sighed, irritably. Then he opened the passenger door, and told Steve “Just get in, okay?”

 

Steve did as he was told. As he was fastening his seat belt he was visualising exactly what Tony had just done. He could _see_ him, flying away from them at such speed, snatching up a _van_ because he needed one – just pulling solutions out of nowhere, to what had been an impossible problem. _God, I’ve missed you…_

 

The relief of the doors closing was overwhelming. Even before Tony had jump started the engine, it seemed so warm in the van by comparison. And, oh, it was nice to sit down… and Steve was _so_ tired…

 

“Where are we going?” Steve managed, his voice sounding slurred.

“Safehouse” Tony answered dismissively, still focussed on the task of getting the car started. And then, as the engine roared into life, he allowed himself one anxious glance at Steve. “Are you hurt?” He asked, his voice unnaturally level.

“Not really.” Steve shook his head, slow and heavy “I got shot in the arm, uniform took most of it.” He looked down at the dark stain on his shoulder, about the size of a compact disc.

“Head injury?” Tony asked, more firmly.

“No, just… tired” Steve felt embarrassed, saying that to Tony. Like, for whatever reason, he had no right to be tired in front of Tony. Like it wasn’t the appropriate response to seeing Tony, it wasn’t how he should have felt… But Tony just nodded, acceptingly, and finally pulled away.

 

Steve managed to keep his eyes open for long enough to watch Tony slowly navigate his way through the last of the woodland, back to the icy mountain road. He tried so hard to keep them open. But the car heater was beginning to warm up by then, the low vibration of the engine working through the aching muscles in his legs… He could still hear Tony’s voice, just a comforting rhythm in the background.

 

_“Hey Rhodes, what’ve you got?”_

_“Okay, can you get there?”_

_“… ditch this car…”_

_“…not going to be open, but….getting back isn’t the issue… ends up needed a transfusion, I don’t know…”_

_“…If Ross calls you…”_

_“Half an hour. I’ll floor it when I get to the main road.”_

Steve had heard that voice so many times as he drifted into sleep, it didn’t even seem strange.

 

*

 

Steve woke up with a start when the car engine stopped.

“You with us, Cap?” Sam asked, from somewhere behind him.

“Yeah.” Steve answered on autopilot, looking around him for his baring’s-

 

Tony. Just looking at him.

 

“You better get inside” Tony said, his voice detached and professional.

 

_He’s annoyed at me. Why is he annoyed at me?_

_Oh, yeah._

 

There were always a few minutes in the morning, before Steve remembered… everything. A few minutes before he remembered that he wasn’t back at the Tower, and would never be at the tower. And then it would dawn on him that he would never see Tony again…

 

Although, he wasn’t usually looking right at Tony when that happened…

 

“Get inside where?” He asked, looking out of the window of the van. He found a rather run down looking cabin, standing all alone in the snow.

“Sorry. Best I could do at short notice” Tony told him, not sounding at all apologetic.

“But what is it.” Steve frowned.

“It’s a hunting cabin, apparently – more to the point, it was nearby, it has heating, and it could be booked via paypal under a fake name.” Tony huffed, impatiently, “What, not up to your exacting standards?”

“No, no, sorry” Steve shook his head, coming to his senses, “No, it’s great, it’s…” _It’s going to save our lives. Tony has just saved our lives._ “Thank you.” He finished, his tone more affected now. Tony just looked away from him.

“So get inside.”

 

A sharp little chill ran through Steve.

 

“You aren’t coming?” He asked, as everyone else got the message and got out of the car. Tony rolled his eyes.

“I’m getting rid of the stolen vehicle we’re in” He explained, patronisingly “And then I’ll come back. Rhodey’s already here. He’ll help you.”

 

_And then I’ll come back._

 

Steve knew, even then, he had no right to expect that, or to be hurt if Tony hadn’t said that. He knew he shouldn’t really be scared of Tony not coming back, given that, just a few hours ago, he’d never expected to see Tony again.

 

But he was just so happy that Tony _had_ said it, and that was all he was thinking about when he went inside.

 

*

 

The cabin was… rustic. Basic. Full of ugly repair work and comically dated appliances. There was a large, square living area with a dingy little kitchenette at one end. There were two doors on the left wall, one of which clearly didn’t close properly, and a narrow door at the back of the kitchen covered in cobwebs. There were generations of grime worn into the hardwood floor, a slightly lighter patch highlighting where there had been a rug, once.

 

God it was wonderful.

 

It was _warm_ , for one. Rhodey had obviously lit the ancient little gas fire a while ago. And it wasn’t until Steve saw Rhodey, the unnatural way he was standing in his Stark Tech leg braces, that Steve remembered. Oh yeah. He was just as embarrassed and awkward in front of Rhodey as he was Tony. There were just as many unsaid things in this room, just as many wrongs to explain and apologies to make… Steve _did_ think about Rhodey, often. He just hadn’t processed it when Tony said his name, he still hadn’t figured out that Rhodey would be there before he was _right_ there… and then, before Steve could remember how he’d planned to begin this one, Rhodey had just smiled and held out his hand.

 

“Captain.”

 

Steve was more moved by that than he could have said. So he didn’t say anything. He just smiled, and nodded, and held out his hand. He saw Rhodey catch the bloodstain on his arm.

 

“Right, I have the Stark equivalent of a first aid kit. Who’s first?”

 

Rhodey got Natasha’s wounds cleaned and bandaged while Steve helped Sam. Thankfully, neither of their injuries were as bad as Steve had feared. Nat’s skin was torn in a way that was obviously incredibly sore, but not too deep, and she didn’t seem to have lost too much blood so far. Sam probably did have a concussion, but nothing that an ice pack and a good nights sleep wouldn’t fix. Steve had insisted on looking at Wanda’s wounds before anyone looked at his – the worse of which was a deep laceration on her foot that she hadn’t even mentioned. Steve winced, thinking of how far she’d walked on it. And then, just as Steve sat down to let Rhodey deal with his injury, the door opened.

 

Steve didn’t even brace. He already knew, no one else would find them here.

 

He looked up as Tony walked in, shaking the snow out of his hair. He was carrying several plastic bags, bulging at the bottom under their own weight.

“You done being a delinquent?” Rhodey enquired, casually, still frowning at Steve’s wound.

“I don’t know, I rather enjoyed it – I might start burning minivans out for fun.” Tony mocked joylessly, walking right past everyone to deposit the bags in the kitchen. “How are we doing, anyway?”

“Well, you might have to look at this one” Rhodey said direct to the bullet hole, and then he looked up at Steve “You still have a bullet in here, you know.” Steve just nodded – it _felt_ like he still had a bullet in there. Then Rhodey looked up at Tony. “And you’re the expert at removing bullets with household appliances…”

“I have lived a life, haven’t I?” Tony sang, making his way over. “You can put the groceries away then.”

 

Steve held his breath as Tony sat down in front of him, those big brown eyes focussed so intently on his shoulder. Steve could see the checklist running though Tony’s head, the familiar way he bit his bottom lip as he was thinking, the way his gaze drifted from the issue at hand to the inside of his own head… oh, he knew all this. He knew every eyelash, every freckle, every silvery scar on that soft sun-kissed skin. Had he really not seen Tony in months? It was like he’d never been away from him…

 

Then Tony pressed his thumb to the skin around the wound, and there was a sudden sharp pain deep in his muscles. He hissed, and Tony just knotted his brow

“Yeah, it’s not going to be fun, is it?” And if Steve hadn’t known him quite so well, that would have sounded callous. Tony had meant it to sound callous. Tony had tried very hard to mask the sympathy that had flashed up in his eyes. “You better grit your teeth.”

 

Steve set his jaw as Tony pulled a familiar instrument out of his personal first aid kit – a long set of made-for-purpose tweezers that Tony had had to use on him before. And, yeah, it hurt. But Steve was always amazed by how quickly Tony managed this, how instinctive and fluid his movements were. He always thought of the armour. He always felt like there was an expert working on him, when Tony did that. And, within minutes, the bullet was freed and the wound was stitched and bandaged, and everything was okay again.

 

Except, of course, it wasn’t. And now, without the urgency of survival to distract him, Steve remembered everything that wasn’t. In one instant, he realised he really was sitting in a room with Tony, after everything.

 

“Thank you.” He whispered, so low that only Tony could have heard it. But he knew Tony had heard it, he saw the way Tony’s eyes snapped up to meet his-

“Why did you buy _wheatgrass_ flavoured Vodka?” Rhodey enquired from the kitchen.

“Because I had $200 in cash on me, and there wasn’t much else to blow it on.” Tony explained, as though it should have been obvious. Rhodey laughed, affectionately, and put it away. Tony refocussed on Steve. “I did buy the sensible things too. There’s a deliberately awful change of clothes in there for each of you, and something for dinner tonight – and I’m _not_ cooking it.”

“Thank God for that.” Rhodey commented, while Steve’s stomach twitched. Oh yeah, he’d forgotten that he was _starving_.

“So, apparently there is a bathroom here…?” Tony glanced back at Rhodey questioningly, and Rhodey gestured to the grubby door behind him.

“Yeah, it’s awful. But it works.” Rhodey shrugged.

“And, just to avoid any risk of me being subtle, you should _all_ get washed up, because you all stink” Tony told them bluntly, and Steve just laughed.

 

*

 

Obviously Steve had let everyone else use the bathroom before him, which meant he ended up eating dinner before he showered. A huge bowl of pasta that Tony _had_ helped to prepare, but only following Rhodey’s very strict instructions. And it might have been awkward, all of them sitting there eating together, but they were all so hungry that they barely noticed. They just fell into that comfortable, homely silence while they ate – the same one they used to fall into after training sessions at the tower. When everyone had finished, finally warm and full after however many nights lost in the wilderness, Steve could tell that none of them would be awake when he emerged from the bathroom. He was glad.

 

And the bathroom probably would have looked awful to him at another time in his life. He was learning that these things were all about context. These days, he didn’t notice the black mildew or the silverfish. All that mattered was that the water was clean, and hot. To a man used to ‘washing up’ in gas station sinks, a real shower was the ultimate luxury. As he let the warmth soak into him, and felt the dirt washing out of his hair, he couldn’t help but think back a few hours. Lost and injured and cold, desperate for any chance, any fragment of hope that he could work into a solution. He’d have given anything to have found a cave at that point. And then there was Tony.

 

There was still Tony.

 

Tony was out there right now, in person. Tony had helped them – of course he had. So maybe Tony would listen to him… Steve had to try, right? He hadn’t expected this opportunity, he hadn’t planned for it…well, not specifically. But he had spent the last few months thinking about what he’d like to say to Tony. It was ridiculous not to at least _try_ now…

 

Steve walked back into the living area, wearing – as Tony had promised – a particularly vulgar Kiss T-shirt and a browney-orange pair of sweatpants. Nat and Wanda had apparently gone to bed elsewhere. Sam was fast asleep on one of the collapsed beige couches, Rhodey was quietly dozing on the other. And Tony was perched on the little wooden coffee table, waiting.

 

“Hey” Steve smiled, still not sure if he was allowed to… but just smiling. Like he did, around Tony. Tony smiled back – but it didn’t reach his eyes. Steve could see Tony sizing him up, subtle though he was trying to be.

“You look like shit.” Tony commented, lightly. Steve huffed out a soft laugh.

“You picked them.” He joked, gesturing to his outfit. And he _knew_ this wasn’t how they talked now – at least, not until they’d talked about other things. But it was just so easy, when Tony was actually here.

“And I would like you to know, there _were_ better options, and I deliberately chose those. So.” Tony answered. Steve smiled again – but this time it didn’t reach his eyes, either. Steve knew where this was going.

“Well… least that I deserve…” Steve mumbled, not sure how to else to change the tone of this. He saw Tony take a slow breath, and stepped closer to him. “Tony-”

“You know that story about the troops in World War One, playing soccer on Christmas Eve?” Tony cut him off, and Steve just looked at him for a moment, baffled.

“…No.” He answered, eventually. Tony looked genuinely surprised.

“No? Wow. _You_ should know this story – it’s a true story, by the way. The British and German troops had all been stuck in the trenches in France for however long, aiming guns at each other over a couple of feet of no mans land… until, on Christmas Eve 1914, they all just decided to down guns and play soccer instead. Because it was Christmas. No orders from above, no official okay from anyone. The men just decided to do it…. I can’t believe you’ve not heard this story.”

“Me neither.” Steve whispered, beginning to understand what Tony meant.

“Do you know what the date is?” Tony enquired, and Steve just shook his head. “It’s Boxing Day. Saint Stephens Day, actually.”

“Wow.” Steve exhaled. So that meant, when they were fighting their way out of that burning warehouse, it had been Christmas Day… “Sorry… It’s been a rough week… couple of weeks…”

“Yeah, I can tell…” Tony said, looking him over again. Steve knew what he was seeing. He’d spent a good ten minutes trying to wash his skin clean, only to realise that he was marbled by weeks worth of bruises, layered on top of one another. He’d knew he’d lost weight, that he was pale and his nails were torn. He knew Tony saw it all. “…Anyway. My point is, it’s still sort of Christmas. So, do you want to just… not?”

 

Steve really didn’t know the answer to that. _Did_ he want to just… not? His first instinct was _no._ No, he wanted to say these things – no, he _had_ to say these things. There were things he couldn’t say over the phone, things he hadn’t managed to put into a letter, things he could only say to Tony’s face. When would he get the chance, again? But, on the other hand… he didn’t want to fight with Tony. A very basic part of him would have liked so much to pretend none of this had happened, to enjoy his company, to just….not. And maybe it wasn’t his choice to make. If this was how Tony wanted to play it, he had no right to expect anything else.

 

“Is that what you want?” He outright asked, and Tony sighed.

“Yeah, I think so.” He nodded, sadly. “I think that’s…best.”

“Okay.” Steve whispered, barely audible. He couldn’t help but think of everything he wanted to say, even as he was promising not to say it…

 

But then he wondered – _was_ that what he was promising not to say? Was there really a conflict here? In fact… didn’t this make it all easier, the things he wanted to say?

 

He _had_ to try.

 

“You mean you don’t want to talk about everything.” Steve clarified “You don’t want to have to bring everything up or fight about everything or go into it all, and I get that. That’s okay – I just… I’m sorry.” He caught the warning look Tony gave him, and rushed to explain himself “And that isn’t me saying everything I’m sorry for, as much as I’d like to, or trying to tell you why, or what I think, or anything like that – I just mean, that feeling…” He subconsciously brought his hand to his chest as he brought that dull ache back into existence, just thinking about this “I just want you to know that I’m _sorry_ , that I _feel_ that, all the time…” And he knew if he tried explaining any more than that, he’d break the rules. He’d go right into talking about it the way he’d promised not to. Part of him wished he could. But part of him was glad that he got to say this bit, maybe more so for the fact that he got to say it in isolation. It felt like a point unto itself, anyway.

“Steve-” Tony started. Then Rhodey shifted softly on the couch, and both of them froze for fear of waking him. Tony waited until Rhodey had fully settled before he caught Steve’s eye again. “C’mon” He told him, gesturing to what Steve presumed were the bedroom doors.

Steve held his breath as he followed him.

 

*

 

Steve and Tony had had sex just once. One strange, wonderful night just after SHIELD fell, which stood separate from the rest of reality in Steve’s memories. They’d both known at the time that it was something distinct from the rest of their lives, that it wouldn’t change anything when they had to go back to them. They’d barely even spoken about it, although Steve, at least, had thought about it often… Besides that, there was that party when Tony had basically sat on Steve’s lap and kissed him for a good part of the evening… that had been Christmas as well, thinking about it – it had involved mistletoe… And that one time Steve had been _so_ relieved that Tony wasn’t dead (as opposed to all the other times he’d been _so_ relieved that Tony wasn’t dead) that he’d grabbed him and kissed him full on the mouth before he’d thought to stop himself. That was it. Steve had no idea whether what he had with Tony counted as a sexual or romantic relationship – somehow, nothing they ever did pushed them closer to _or_ further away from it.

 

The second bedroom was small, with only the rickety double bed and a little side table to furnish it. Tony bringing him to a bedroom didn’t mean anything, even though it had done, once. They’d also slept in the same bed professionally and platonically, plenty of times – even after they’d had sex. But then, Tony bringing him to this room might well have meant something. It could have meant so many things. So, Steve carried on holding his breath and sat down on the bed. Tony stayed standing.

“I assumed I’d be out on the couches with Rhodey” Tony explained “But then Sam crashed out on me. So here we are.” Which didn’t actually answer Steve’s question, either. It didn’t tell him what Tony was thinking _now._

“I don’t mind” Steve told him, his voice heavy. Tony dropped his shoulders, and sat down next to Steve.

 

“Why didn’t you call me?”

“No signal” Steve answered, quickly.

“And before that?” Tony asked, looking again at the bruises that were clearly weeks old.

“And say what?” Steve sighed, defeated “There’s not _been_ a specific threat we needed saving from, before tonight. Just…my life. How can I ask you to help me with that?” He watched Tony get it. He knew, this _definitely_ counted as something they’d decided not to discuss. There was a long pause.

 

“As long as we’re not talking about _why_ I think this, or what else I might think, or whether it matters a shit… I still want you to be happy, Steve.” Tony’s voice was suddenly so sincere, Steve was a little taken aback by it. “And…I probably shouldn’t think it. There’s probably all sorts of issues to unpack there. But as long as we’re not bothering with issues… well, anyway, it’s true.”

“I _always_ wanted you to be happy, Tony.” Steve responded. “I know… you wouldn’t necessarily think it, after… and, yeah, okay, I won’t get into _why_ I did all that – but it was _never_ because I didn’t care about you, Tony. None of this is what I wanted, or what I thought would happen-”

“It’s okay, Steve, we don’t have to-”

“I love you, Tony.” Steve was shocked at how easily it came out. How comfortable he felt saying it. The fact that it didn’t faze him when Tony just stopped dead and stared at him. “And maybe it doesn’t _matter a shit._ I know it doesn’t mean… anything, on its own. But I just want you to know, whatever I did – I did it to the man I loved. Which might mean I’m stupid or selfish or not, we don’t have to talk about it. But that’s just… when you’re trying to make sense of any of this, you can just work that in…” The significance of what he was saying began to dawn on him, slowly. His words trailed off as his mind raced to catch up. And Tony was still looking at him like that. “I’m sorry. It doesn’t matter.”

 

Tony didn’t say it back. For a few minutes, Tony didn’t say anything. And then, just as Steve was really beginning to panic about what he’d done, he felt Tony lean into him. He looked up just as Tony put his hand to the side of his face, so gently that it stopped the breath in his chest.

“Do you know, for as long as I’ve known you, I’ve just wanted to make it better.” Tony whispered, stroking his palm over Steve’s skin slowly until it was resting on his neck. “I was never even sure what _it_ was, but I just always thought there was this weight you carried around with you everywhere, this pain you were always _working through_ … and I just wanted to make it better.”

 

Steve had been leaning in the whole time that Tony had been talking. And now Tony was right there, his fingertips teasing at the edge of Steve’s hairline. Steve’s eyes fell to Tony’s mouth, he parted his lips without knowing he was doing it –

 

He kissed Tony like it was the most natural thing in the world.

 

And Tony kissed him back as though they did this all the time. Not desperate and anxious, as though it was the conclusion to something. Not hurried or rough, like it was their only chance. Not even deep or emotional, as though it was coming in the middle of a bitter personal feud. Tony kissed him softly, sweetly, like they had all the time in the world. Affectionately. Like he had that first time, thinking about it.

 

But Steve didn’t think about it much, after that. He just let Tony kiss him, leaning back into the bed and bringing Tony with him, wanting to feel the weight of Tony on top of him. His hands found their way into Tony’s hair and down along his spine and under his clothes, like they knew what they were doing. Steve didn’t think about whether he should be doing this, whether it would ever happen again or what would happen tomorrow. His only conscious thoughts were about the little details of Tony, the taste of him, the sound of him sighing, the shape of his arms. Oh God, he’d _missed_ him. He’d missed the way he talked, the way he laughed, the way he thought. Suddenly, Steve loved him so much that he didn’t know what to do with it, grabbing at Tony’s shoulders more roughly, like he was trying to grab hold of Tony’s very soul. He felt Tony buck against him when he did it, the friction sending a sharp thrill through him. He broke the kiss with a gasp.

“Tell me what you want.” Tony whispered, his voice low and raw. Steve felt a second shock run through him just at the sound of it.

“You.” He answered, quickly “I just want you.” And then Tony’s mouth was on his again, his whole body moving against Steve’s now, that low heat flaring up with incredible speed.

 

Steve _did_ just want Tony, at least, right then – and that was the question, wasn’t it? If they weren’t allowed to talk about the context, if they weren’t allowed to think about what it meant long term, if all that existed was the world inside this room, then it was Tony. Tony’s perfect lips trailing their way down his throat, Tony’s talented hands undressing him, Tony’s teeth marking his skin. Soft endearments and breathy pleas in Tony’s voice. Oh, Steve had missed that voice. Steve had always longed to hear words like this, in that voice. Steve whispered back, I’m sorry and I’ve missed you and _oh, God, so good, please-_

 

And then, as their movements got sharper and more desperate, Tony’s hand moving quickly over both of them, Steve felt that low pressure building and tried to say Tony’s name. And Tony leant in close, and whispered,

“I love you, too.”

 

Steve managed Tony’s name then, moaning it too loud as he came, gripping Tony’s shoulder hard enough to bruise. Tony followed immediately after, groaning low in his chest. Then he collapsed on top of Steve, panting desperately.

 

For a few minutes, they just held each other like that. Then Steve became vaguely aware of Tony shivering, and remembered the chill in the bedroom himself. He grabbed the duvet, clumsily, and wrapped it around the two of them, pulling Tony close. He felt Tony settle into him, finding that space he so perfectly fit, his head resting on Steve’s shoulder. In that instant, Steve was completely and truly happy. He held onto it for as long as possible, fighting off thoughts of the real world for as long as he could… but there was no outrunning it. _This_ was all Steve wanted – and this had to end.

“Oh, God, Tony…” He whispered, hugging him tighter.

“Shhh.” Tony soothed. “Don’t.”

 

So, Steve didn’t. He didn’t know whether he wanted to, or whether he should… but he let all the words go anyway, because Tony had told him to. But it was okay, at least right now – right now, Tony was still in his arms, and it wasn’t so much of a hardship to focus on that. He’d worry about later later. For the moment, he could content himself with the fact that everyone was safe, and warm – because of Tony. Brave, brilliant Tony, who was right here, right now.

 

And then, just as Steve was drifting into sleep, he felt Tony speak.

“Did you know, after that Christmas soccer game, the British and the German soldiers started warning each before they shelled each other.”

“Hm?” Steve questioned sleepily, forcing his eyes open again.

“The British troops used to sign to warn the Germans that they were about to shell them, so they could hide. The Germans did the same.”

“Wouldn’t it have been better to have…not shelled each other?” Steve frowned.

“Probably, but the generals made that call – and the generals probably didn’t know the troops _were_ warning each other. The generals had never played soccer with the other side. But the men had – and once that had happened… It _didn’t_ stop the war, obviously. It didn’t stop the generals shelling each other, or anything. Didn’t really change anything, I guess. Expect what the men thought of each other… They had to help each other, after that. Even if they were still at war.” Tony finally looked up at him, his eyes heavy with sleep. “I still can’t believe you’ve never heard this story.”

“I’ll look it up.” Steve promised, over a lump in his throat.

“You should.” Tony murmured, resting his head on Steve’s shoulder again.

 

Steve held him there until they both fell asleep. 


End file.
